


Two in Times of War

by KanarandTarkaleanTea



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Episode Related, Gen, Probably Inappropriate; Background Garak/Bashir, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-07-08 09:27:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15927572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KanarandTarkaleanTea/pseuds/KanarandTarkaleanTea
Summary: Unexpected bonding between co-conspirators





	Two in Times of War

**Author's Note:**

> I habitually search for “Garak” on twitter to absorb any and all real-time Garak love that the internet has to give because I have an unhealthy preoccupation. Yesterday, someone tweeted that they thought the only two people on Deep Space Nine who they thought would fit the profile of pot smokers would be Sisko and Garak. I don’t smoke, but I found the idea of Sisko and Garak lighting up together to be hilarious. And what could be less appropriate than the two smoking up after the events that take place in The Pale Moonlight?
> 
> So, this is probably a bad idea, but here it is.

The door chime to his quarters sounded. Damn! He put down the apparatus and waved a hand through the air in front of him. Even in a vaporizer, Bajoran Kush had a pungent aroma. A hull breach wouldn’t have been enough to ventilate the room instantly to get rid of the smell.

This really chaffed his ass. He was off duty God damn it, and it had been an incredibly trying week. If Ops was having an emergency, they could damn well com him. Otherwise, he was going to ignore it.

“Captain, I know you’re in there.”

Garak. He should have known. The man had an unerring way of turning up when he was least wanted. Though, after the events Sisko had just finished deleting the recording of, he had to admit that the man also had the unerring ability to turn up when he was most needed.

“What do you want, Garak?” He barked through the door.

“A civilized conversation? One not conducted through a tritanium door?”

Sisko gritted his teeth. “Enter!” he yelled, disengaging the lock.

“Thank you!” Garak said as he stepped over the threshold. He blinked his eyes in fake surprise in that way that Sisko found irritating — especially now — but he waited until the door swished closed behind him before he spoke. The tailor took a deep inhalation. “My, it’s been a while since I smelled Bajoran Indica.”

“What do you want, Garak?” Sisko repeated, rubbing a hand over his eyes. To his dismay Garak sat on the chair adjacent to him and appeared to settle in.

“Not much, Captain. Oh, and don’t let me interrupt you.” He waved a hand over the glass of whiskey and the atomizer. “I fully understand the need to decompress after a trying couple of days.”

“Unless you want me to punch you again, Mister Garak, I suggest you get to the reason you’re here.”

Garak paused, grasping his chin and moving it back and forth. “Ah, yes, that actually touches on what I wanted to talk to you about.” He took a deep breath. “You see, I find myself at a bit of an impasse this evening, and thought you might be as well.”

Sisko took a closer look at the man and to his surprise, there was a darkness around his eyes and a tension to his smile that he hadn’t noticed before. “You could say that.”

“I suspected as much. I was sitting in my quarters, trying to enjoy a soothing glass of kanar, when I thought ‘I bet that Captain Sisko is feeling much the same way as I am’ and almost before I knew it, I found myself outside of your door.” He cleared his throat. “You see, the device I used to rely on to lessen the sting of certain unpleasantness is no longer available to me, and the good doctor has been warning me against my sometimes immoderate consumption of kanar while alone in my rooms… so I found that I was at a bit of a loose end.”

It could be a front, Sisko thought. The tailor could be lying like he so often did, hoping to somehow parlay their interaction into something strategically beneficial. But he’d read the report Bashir had written regarding the Obsidian Order implant, and Sisko doubted that Garak would even obliquely refer to it in such a casual manner unless something was actually bothering him. “And so you thought you’d seek me out.”

The tailor’s smile this time was un-mistakenly strained. “Well, the shared reason for our mutual discontent could hardly be discussed with the few people I otherwise talk to. Though I did briefly considered once again subjecting Doctor Bashir to my company, the dear boy would have pestered me mercilessly to divulge the reason for my current discomfort.  And anyway, he has already received far more than his fair share of the burden of my problems.”

Well. Sisko blew out a long breath. This was not how he’d wanted to spend his evening. The whole affair had forced him to question his ethics and do a hell of a lot more soul searching than he wanted to do while embroiled in a bitter war.

But if the other man was feeling half as bothered by the Romulan affair as he was, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to turn his back on him.

He rubbed a hand over his brow. “Can I get you a drink?”

Garak closed his eyes and seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. “That would be _most_ appreciated.”

The Captain got up and walked over to the liquor cabinet. “I don’t have any kanar.”

“At this point, anything with a decent alcohol content will be fine,” he said, then pulled a vaporizer and a tin out of his pocket. “And if you’ll share some of your Bajoran strain I would be more than happy to share a bit of my Cardassian endo.”

* * * * * * *

Sisko had never been able to fathom why Doctor Bashir enjoyed conversing with Garak; not that he’d had much prolonged interaction with the man before the Romulan affair, but the former Cardassian spy had never spared the sharp edge of his tongue in any of their dealings, and the Captain had never would have been able to imagine deriving any pleasure in the tailor’s company.

After several glasses of whiskey and a serious dent taken out of both of their stashes, though, he had to admit that the tailor actually could be pleasant company.

Conversation had started a bit stilted, but as the room filled with smoke, and the whiskey bottle neared its bottom, Sisko had finally allowed himself to roll with it. Through unspoken consensus, they’d stayed on safe topics, carefully avoiding anything that would even approach the topic of the war or the reason they’d spent so much time together over the past week. His guest had been eager to talk literature, but Sisko didn’t have time for much pleasure reading, so Garak had let the subject go. In the end, they’d mostly ended up talking about their station gossip and their homes.

 “…and that’s just the French Quarter,” Sisko said, taking another drink as he settled back into his couch. Garak had listened politely as he’d waxed poetic about where he was originally from, asking questions and smiling and nodding at the appropriate junctures. “No matter how much I’ve come to love Bajor,” Sisko summarized, “my heart will always belong to New Orleans.”

“It sounds absolutely charming; all the more so when described by someone who has obvious affection for one’s home,” Garak said, his words spoken a little slower than usual, but his grandiloquence otherwise undiminished by intoxicants.

“It’s a great place. Great people. And the food. Oh, you haven’t lived until you’ve had Creole food. Replicators don’t do it justice.” He waved a dismissive hand over the various New Orleans-inspired munchies he’d dialed up from the replicator. “I wish I had some of my dad’s alligator gumbo right now.”

Garak tilted his head. “The UT managed to approximate a translation for “gumbo” but what is “alligator”?”

“Oh, uh, they’re a large Terran reptile. Ridged, vicious, a bit like…” And immediately Sisko envisioned his companion as an alligator, floating in the swamp, waiting for his prey…

 “Were you going to say ‘like a Cardassian?’”

Sisko cringed. So much for diplomacy. “No, now wait, I didn’t…”

“Calm yourself, Captain!” Garak laughed. “There do seem to be certain parallels. Though it has been centuries since Cardassians had tails.”

Quirking an eyebrow Sisko had the distinct feeling he’d somehow been set up to put his foot in his mouth. “You knew exactly what an alligator was all along, didn’t you.”

Garak laughed again. “I believe Doctor Bashir might have shown me a picture, once.” The tailor was obviously enjoying this. “You’ll have to forgive me, Captain. The Doctor tells me frequently I have a bizarre sense of humor.”

* * * * *

The whiskey was gone, and they’d switched to Springwine. Garak gazed into the pale liquor as he reminisced. “You’re father’s garden sounds impressive. I was never much for growing food in my garden, but oh, you should have seen my flowers, Captain. Wherever my travels took me I would collect a seedling or root, and then plant it in the small plot of land I had in Kardasi’Or. I managed to collect blooms from some of the farthest reaches of the quadrant.” He took a hit off of his vaporizer, set it down, hesitating only a moment before grabbing another replicated Zapp’s Spicy Cajun Crawtator chip. “I should stop. I can feel these going to straight to my hips.”

“Well, at least you know how to let out your own pants. I’m stuck with commissioning the station’s price-gouging spy-turned-tailor whenever I need an alteration.”

Through the haze, Garak’s look of mock-offense really was pretty funny, and Sisko found himself not quite so annoyed as he usually was by the man’s exaggerated facial expressions.  “Well, I’d say it serves you right for going to Del Floria’s. They’re known throughout the quadrant as being a front for shady operations!”

“They are pretty shady,” Sisko admitted. “What is with the connection between dirty-dealings and tailor’s shops, anyway?”

The man flashed a sharp-toothed smile. “You’d be surprised how much overlap there is between covert operations and couture. Not that I would know, of course. My shop is above reproach!”

* * * * * * *

Sisko was slowly becoming one with his couch. “I wish Kasidy was here.”

“She’s a lovely woman,” Garak said from where he had ended up on the floor.  “Lovely,” he repeated, rolling the word around in his mouth. “And when will the _lovely_ Miss Yates be returning?”

“Not soon enough.”

The tailor chuckled. “Yes, its amazing how time seems to stretch when one is away from a loved one.”  He took the last beignet, using it to absorb every last particle of powdered sugar and popping it in his mouth. “These remind me of Bajoran doughpuffs. Have you had them?”

Sisko shook his head. “Nope. Can’t say as I have.”

“You should go to the Celestial Café. Aroya makes them so light they practically float.” He gave a disgusted snort.  “You know, I attempted to make a connection between Odo and Miss Aroya, but alas. While the good Constable’s perception in most areas is unparalleled, his ability to appreciate the feminine form seems to be somewhat lacking… with a few exceptions, of course.”

Sisko cleared his throat; he had no doubt that the tailor was referring to the Constable’s obvious lovesickness for Kira, but didn’t feel up to talking about the romantic life of his Bajoran first officer with a Cardassian. “Frankly, you didn’t quite strike me as the type to appreciate the “feminine form” either,” he said, instantly regretting that that was how his loosened tongue had decided to change the subject.

Again, though, Garak didn’t seem to take offense. “Oh, my tastes are quite broad; I’ve simply never been one to allow gender to get in the way of my… _appreciation._ ”

* * * * * * *

“Jesus, Garak, I did _not_ need to hear that.”

Wide, earnest eyes stared back at him. “You cannot seriously tell me you haven’t noticed!”

“I don’t make it a habit of checking out my Senior Staff!”

“But you have eyes, Captain.”

“First: Not that there is anything wrong with it, but I don’t happen to lean that way. Second: He’s practically the same age as my son!”

“To address your second point first, no, he is not. He’s a grown man, and completely in play. And no matter what your inclinations, you have to admit that he’s incredibly handsome.”

“I will admit that he is a good looking man.” Sisko begrudgingly agreed.

Garak nodded. “…and that his behind should have odes written to it...”

“Garak.”

“…and that his beautiful long neck practically begs to be bitten...”

“Garak!”

“…and that his legs would look fabulous draped over my…”

“Enough, Mister Garak! I get the idea.”

* * * * * *

“Captain.”

Sisko groaned, blinking his eyes. Ug. Why were the lights so bright? He squinted and turned on his side, taking stock of his surroundings. He was prone on the couch, obviously he’d fallen asleep, and looming above him was probably one of the most dangerous men in the entire quadrant…

… with a soft look on his face, holding out a glass of liquid.

He tried to ignore the slight spin in the room as he moved to sit up.

“What is it?” he asked, taking the glass and eyeing it dubiously

“Water and an anti-intoxicant. Don’t worry, its not poisoned,” Garak said. “But because I don’t expect you to take my work on that, here is your tricorder, too,” he finished, handing over the device.

After their evening together, it felt weird to scan the drink, but he knew he’d be a fool to trust the man. To his relief, it checked out. He drank it down and prayed that it would get to work soon.

Garak sat back in his chair and took a sip of something that smelled like rotten fish and pickles. “I thought briefly about letting you sleep and suffer the hangover as retribution for punching me yesterday, but I’ve always tried to be the “bigger man” as it were.” He sighed. “And, if there is to be fallout from our little conspiracy, I figured it would be better to have you feeling as whole as possible.”

He coughed a laugh. “Well, no matter what your motives, I appreciate it.” He rubbed a hand over his eyes. “It’s been a long time since I indulged to that extent.”

Garak hummed in agreement.

As sobriety settled over him, the reason for his over-indulgence resurfaced. “And just what do you think the chances are of there being fallout?”

Eyeridge raised, Garak regarded him carefully. “You may not be prepared to admit the legitimacy of my methods, but I assure you, I’m very good. There will be no forensic evidence that will lead back to us.” He sighed. “However, communications were exchanged, and there is always the risk of detrimental speculation. Still, I would be very surprised if anyone ever suspects the true nature of what happened.”

Sisko wasn’t sure whether he felt better with this reassurance or not. “Being out here is not as clear cut as they led me to believe when I was in the Academy.”

“All you can do is sell your soul as dearly as possible, Captain,” Garak said as he finished his drink and stood up. “I meant what I said: The price paid to bring the Romulans into the war could have been much higher. And with them as allies, thousands, if not millions of lives may be saved.”

Sisko knew the truth of the statement, but it just reminded him of the whole mess. “It was nice not thinking about it all for a while.”

“It was.” The tailor walked over and held out his hand. When Sisko went to shake, though, Garak moved his hand up to grip his arm. “There is an old saying on Cardassia; it far predates the Empire, but its ethos remains: ‘It’s the burden of those who can to protect those who can’t.’” Garak fixed him with his piercing blue eyes. “That burden never changes weight, Captian. But sometimes, when shared, the burden can feel a bit lighter.”

Sisko nodded and the moment extended. But just as suddenly, Garak gave him a bright smile. “Though, speaking of weight, I don’t think my waistline will ever forgive either one of us for all that food you replicated!”

He smiled at the man’s attempt to lighten the mood. “I didn’t force you to eat it, Mister Garak.”

“True enough.” Garak cleared his throat. “Before I leave, there is one thing I’d like to ask? I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention to Doctor Bashir some of the more… _colorful_ things I may have said about him.”

“Believe me, Mister Garak I am already trying to forget them.”

The tailor nodded and was gone. Once the door swished closed Sisko was once again alone in his quarters. He knew that he’d have to deal with the guilt and feelings of failure surrounding the Romulan affair for a long time. He felt confused and frustrated that the universe would force him to make such deals with the devil. But Garak was right: A burden shared did often feel lighter, and his self-reassurance that he could live with his actions felt just a bit truer. He would never be comfortable with what happened. His higher self would never approve. But he would live with it because he could.

**Author's Note:**

> Not really satisfied with the ending, but I just needed to finish it and move on (and I'm always working on "allowing myself to write badly" so there is that. Not beta'd, so apologies for errors.


End file.
